This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

“Abracadabra” is a real magical spell formulated by Cabbalist magicians two thousand years ago. Originally invoked to cure mortal diseases, the spell has since been employed as the enabling word to cause the result of a magical operation. The spell can only be used to create good results, never evil (see E.A. Wallis Budge, Lewis Spence, and others) and is so powerful everyone in the world has heard of the word.

Serial 2: The Garden of Abracadabra, Vol 1 of the Abracadabra Series Lisa Mason

Why should I let this stranger, this hitchhiker, push his power into me? My instinct says push back, and push back I do. I drive the jolt, the sparks from my throat, out through my shoulder, down my arm to wrist and palm, and out through my fingertips, back to the source.

Back to him.

Only then do I release his hand.

Surprise flickers in his eyes, then dives beneath the surface, disappearing in the Windex depths. Oh, he’s good. Much better than me at concealing his true nature from the quotidian world when he’s got a mind to.

I don’t try to hide my smile. He ought to know from the start he can’t push me around. Or my power.

“I’m Abby.”

“As in ‘Dear Abby’?”

“The same.”

“Then you’re famous. Everyone in the world knows ‘Dear Abby.’ You’ve got some handshake, dear Abby. A magician’s handshake. And some eyes. I love a lady with green eyes. And cool wheels.”

I accept the compliment, though my eyes aren’t so much green as the color of absinthe, a mingling of hazels and golds. The eyes I inherited from my mother, along with my dancer’s legs and the ‘65 Mustang.

We share a comradely laugh, Brand and I. Fascinating, how a man in cowboy boots dangles that particular love-word inside of five minutes. A carrot, one carat, fourteen karats?

Better that I keep my guard up, as the teacher of “Street Smarts for Women” advised our class. If Brand turns out to be a notorious bloodthirsty sorcerer, I know just which part of the man’s anatomy I’ll aim the jab of my knee at.